Didn't I Say to Make My Abilities Average in the Next Life?! Volume 8

by Funa

(Of course, by “everyone,” we mean the merchants, and the Devils’ Paradise, and the Fellowship of Flame. The three hired drivers and the four members of the Crimson Vow had not picked up on this at all.)

  The leader replied in a low voice, “Only half of the metalwork we were promised is ready for us. And yet, the total price is the same as it always is.”

  “What?!” the other three merchants, including the leader’s employee, cried.

  Their shock was understandable—the price of the goods they had come to purchase for resale had just doubled. And since they only were getting half of what they had been promised for the same cost, they would have to double their usual markup just to turn a profit. In other words, they would have to raise their sales price in town to twice what it normally was or never be able to recoup their costs.

  And yet, that was never going to fly with their customers.

  They were being charged double the previous price for the same goods—for goods that were non-perishable, unaffected by the vagaries of the weather or season. There was no customer who would buy at that price. There was no set market value for metalwork, after all.

  Everyone would just buy their goods from other shops, who obtained their stock by other routes—or hold off on buying until the prices returned to normal.

  “Showing their true colors, huh?”

  At prices like that, the smithed goods alone would put them into the red. Moreover, continuing to provide the service of carrying necessities all the way into town and selling them at a reasonable price was out of the question without the profits from the metalwork.

  Consequently, there was not going to be a next time. This was the last time that this caravan would ever travel to Glademarl, and they would not be making any purchases while they were here, either.

  This poor mountain village, atop a road overrun by monsters and brigands, had just lost its revenue stream, along with its only means of obtaining necessities.

  It was over for them.

  “B-but none of the villagers seem like they would do anything like that,” said Mile.

  “Those guys forget about everything else when you put some good booze in front of them,” the merchants retorted in unison.

  That’s weird though, thought Mile. Why would they purposefully do something so suicidal?

  Finding this suspicious, Mile asked the leader, “This is obviously pretty weird, right? For them to pull something like this so suddenly. There must be something going on…”

  “Yeah, I think so, too. There has to be a reason that they couldn’t fulfill our order. I don’t think they’d tell us that unless they had no other choice in the matter. However…”

  “However?” Mile interjected.

  The leader continued, “Even if something is going on, they’re the ones who decided, ‘Well, even if we only made half of what they asked, we can still give it to ’em and just request the same price.’ It would be one thing if they had actually discussed it with us, but instead, they’re treating us like idiots!”

  Ah…

  Finally, Mile understood why there had been such an eerie feeling in the air—and the reason they had camped just outside of the village rather than inside. And even now, why none of them seemed enraged or even frantic about the chief’s sudden demands. And why none of them were the least bit concerned about the village’s well-being.

  None of them actually like this village very much…

  She then pitched a straight ball right over the plate. With gusto.

  “Do you all hate the villagers here?”

  “M-Mile, what are you saying?!” asked Mavis, but she was the only one who appeared to be surprised.

  Apparently Pauline and Reina had already picked up on this fact.

  “That would be correct. We put a good face on for them because we’re merchants, but to tell you the truth, these villagers have always taken us for idiots. So, as far as we’re concerned, the folks here aren’t anything more than trade partners who can help us increase our profits. They certainly aren’t valued customers or anything like that. So, if they lose value to us as trade partners, then we’re outta here. That’s all there is to it.

  “The fact that we accept all the risk of coming here and bringing them their necessities to sell at a completely unprofitable rate isn’t because we care about them or anything. We only bother because they demanded that we do so if we want to buy their stuff. But if they’re gonna gouge us on the one thing we come here for, then there’s no point in us even coming. We’re merchants. We aren’t idiots or saints.”

  All the usual warmth had vanished from the merchants’ faces. It seemed their plans were already set in stone. They were going to abandon this village, or rather, withdraw from any future dealings.

  It made sense. There was not a single reason that any merchant would continue to make a dangerous eight-day round-trip journey to a village of surly customers who did nothing but put them in the red.

  Even so, Mile still found something suspicious about this whole thing.

  “Um, but as far as I could see, none of the villagers really looked like bad people…”

  Indeed, Mile had seen the villagers who had stopped by to shop from them as nothing but smiling, friendly dwarves.

  “You’re right, they aren’t bad people.”

  “What?”

  The members of the Crimson Vow, save for Pauline, appeared shocked at the merchant’s unexpected reply. They looked frantically around, but as far as they could tell, none of the villagers still in the square were paying them any mind. It would be difficult to overhear a conversation that was spoken in such hushed tones, and none of them would have any interest in the internal affairs of merchants, anyway. The members of the Devils’ Paradise and the Fellowship of Flame, who had been listening silently this whole time, continued chewing on their provisions as though they were not affected at all.

  They had known this all from the start. That was what their attitude conveyed.

  “These villagers are, by and large, craftspeople by trade. There are plenty of farmers and lumberjacks, too, but the ones we deal with are the blacksmiths, who are really the heart and soul of this village, a fact with which I’m sure most folks would agree. They have a strong sense of dignity and are incredibly proud of their skills and techniques.

  “Their smithing is number one amongst the humanoid races. Far better than anything that a human or elf could produce. So, they ‘allow’ the other races to purchase and use what they create. That’s what they believe, from the bottom of their hearts.

  “So, it’s not that they harbor ill will towards us, or hate us, or wish death on us, or resent us, or anything like that. They’re skilled craftspeople who enjoy good booze with good friends. It’s just that they’re prideful and look down on the other races when it comes to smithing. They feel that anyone who desires what they make should grovel before them and do anything they say. But no, they aren’t exactly bad people.”

  “That sounds plenty bad to us!!!”

  As they often did, the four members of the Crimson Vow spoke together.

  ***

  “At any rate, everyone, let’s keep selling this afternoon, just as we planned. I’ll head over to the blacksmith’s shop and try to find out what’s going on. If it seems like we can work something out, we’ll continue selling tomorrow and leave the day after next. If it’s no good, then we might just head out at some point tomorrow. If there’s anything in town that you can still buy at the normal price, then we can probably go ahead and buy just that. Any objections?”

  The other two merchants shook their heads. The third was employed by the leader, so his opinion did not have much additional weight. He himself was aware of this, and as a result, did not even bother reacting.

  Meanwhile, the members of the Crimson Vow were silent, still puzzled at this turn of events. Though the other two parties were already aware of the situation with the villagers, they too looked a bit stumped.

  Later, Reina would ask t
hem, “Why didn’t you tell us about the villagers beforehand?”

  Her question was met with the following reply: “There wasn’t any need to tell you any unfavorable information about people who you hadn’t even met. We figured it was best that you meet them and decide for yourselves, rather than unnecessarily biasing you against them.”

  It was a fair explanation that Reina could not help but accept.

  “Now then, I think it’s about time we got back to our stalls. I’ll head over to see the smiths, as a representative of the caravan. There’s no point in even talking to the chief anymore.”

  Apparently, the reason that the leader had not come back right after going to give the chief his regards was because he had been trying to press the man for more information. Yet ultimately, he had come up empty-handed.

  Just as the leader stood to leave…

  “I’d like to come, too!” Mile declared, standing up with him.

  “Hm?”

  The other members of the Crimson Vow stood as well, looking exasperated.

  The leader was momentarily taken aback, but once he considered the fact of Mile’s storage magic, he nodded. There were really no drawbacks to bringing the Crimson Vow with him, and if they could use Mile’s magic as leverage, that might make negotiations a bit smoother, or so he hoped.

  Everyone finished their pitiful lunches of water and bread, and then dispersed to their various tasks.

  “This is one of the blacksmiths we usually purchase from,” said the leader, as the five of them stood before a shop.

  The other hunters had not accompanied them, instead splintering off to tend to their own affairs. There was no real reason for them to come, and having that many rough-looking hunters all in one place would probably look like intimidation, which would certainly be bad for negotiations. The Crimson Vow gave off no such impressions, so bringing them along was much safer.

  “Is the master in?” the leader called into the doorway of the workshop, and a youth who was probably an employee or apprentice went to summon the master smith from further inside… Though of course, judging by the beard on him, he was not a very young-looking youth…

  Everyone in the village knew that the caravan had arrived this morning, so the dwarf did not bother asking the leader’s name. At the same time, there was no doubt that the folks from this shop had all been lined up at Mile’s little stand, the master smith included.

  Indeed, the man who appeared to be the master smith shortly appeared. He had rosy cheeks, perhaps due to the fact that they were warmed every day by the flames of the smithy.

  “Well, I’ll be! The little lady booze-seller is here! If you’ve got any left, I’ll take all of it!!!”

  Ah, yes. The reason that his cheeks were so red was that he had been drinking like a fish since morning.

  “What? You’re tellin’ me you weren’t goin’ door to door to sell your leftover liquor stock…?”

  The smith slumped in disappointment.

  “Liquor? Oh, pardon me!” said the leader. “This is just the usual little extra we have with us, but here, have this!”

  He took out one of the gift bottles he had prepared and handed it to the master smith.

  Oh…

  Finally, Mile realized exactly what it was that she had done.

  “Oh, liquor, huh? Say, what is this…?” said the smith, clearly disappointed, as the leader began to fret.

  There were, of course, breweries in town, and being that this was a village of blacksmiths, they possessed the equipment with which to distill their own spirits. However, they were usually unable to temper their own appetites long enough to let the spirits age, drinking them all up as soon as they finished producing them. Thus, on a practical level they lacked the means to make their own high-quality drink. And to be honest, their most basic productions were nothing to write home about.

  So, the brands that the merchants always brought with them as gifts had been received with a warm welcome…up until now.

  The master smith normally felt it was unfair to drink it all on his own, so he usually let his workers have a nip here and there, too. However, he now looked upon the merchant leader’s gift without much interest. It was inevitable that the merchant leader should be perplexed by this, wondering what about the circumstances had changed.

  This was especially true because Mile had not set up her temporary stall until after the leader had headed to the chief’s house, and by the time he got back, she was sold out of her stock and had more or less packed everything away. He knew that she had been selling something, as she had sought his permission to try opening up shop with something that she had brought along in her storage. He had given his permission but not thought to pay the slightest attention to exactly what kind of wares she was offering. He had assumed she was just playing a little game to pass the time, selling something that she had bought along her travels: some items she no longer needed or perhaps some fresh herbs that would not keep for very long.

  At any rate, a delicate set of negotiations then began, though it seemed that the leader and the master were a pair who had had such exchanges many times before. This time, with the lady liquor-monger, who might have more of her high-quality stock by the merchant’s side, the master smith was inclined to be a bit more receptive.

  “You’ll get half of what you asked for, but the price is gonna be the same.”

  Unfortunately, this talk was not going well for the merchant’s side. Hearing the same thing from the smith as he had from the chief, the leader looked troubled.

  “Your chief told me the same thing. However, I know for certain that the chief would never make a decision like that on his own. The fact that it seemed like it was a done deal for him means that what he told me was in agreement with what your people must have told him. What we wish to know is the reason that you came to this decision out of the blue and whether there is any way we can get you to change your minds. Apparently, you did not tell the village chief the truth, so I was hoping you might tell us the reasoning behind the change in prices.

  “All I’m asking you to tell me is the facts. If you cannot give me any reason for this change, then we will not be purchasing anything, and we will likely never return to this village again. I feel that we’ve built up a mutually beneficial relationship. It would be unfortunate to tear down everything that we’ve built up over the years simply because you refuse to be honest with us, wouldn’t it?”

  From the leader’s stern wording, the smith could tell that he was serious and that refusing to talk could become a problem for the village’s longevity. So, with a solemn expression, he opened his mouth.

  “Very well. Apparently, the chief didn’t think it was his position to say, but I guess it’s a problem if I can’t tell ya. Tell ya the truth, it’s a matter of pride. Of course, ya can’t blame him. He’s gotta act as our representative, and this is a matter of honor for us dwarves. We might all be the same types of people, but we can’t just go lettin’ humans or elves see us in a moment of weakness when it comes to our smithin’. Please don’t think bad of ’im…

  “Anyway, if the caravans stop coming here, then we won’t have anyone to sell our works to, and that just can’t happen. We’d have to get our own carts and guards, and go around from village to village, sellin’ our wares on foot. T’think of it…”

  For the dwarves, who were craftsmen and not merchants by nature, the thought of spending their lives going around peddling instead of making things was unbearable. Plus, even at twice the price as before, they could not hope to turn much of a profit that way considering the cost of wagons and guards and such. Whether or not the others would admit it, the master smith was ready to acknowledge that much.

  Apparently, orcs and ogres had begun taking up residence on the mountain where the dwarves mined iron ore. They could get the wood that they used to fuel the flames of their forges from elsewhere, but that mountain was the only place from which they could source their raw materials.

  The f
act that that mountain was nearby was the reason why the dwarves had even built this village where they had in the first place. Without it, there was no reason why they would settle in such an inconvenient location, deep in the mountains.

  At this, the merchant leader replied directly. “Well then, why don’t you just eliminate them?” It was, of course, the logical solution.

  Dwarves possessed both physical strength and stalwart forms. On top of their solid bodies, this village could easily produce the necessary weapons and armor. All of this meant that they were in a good position to take out these monsters all on their own. In fact, there was a certain subset of dwarven youths who left such villages as this one favor of moving to human settlements to become hunters.

  So, if the villagers were to put together a band of young fellows in their prime, hardened by their daily labors of mining and smithing, the likes of orcs and ogres would never stand a chance.

  Indeed, living in a little village in the middle of the mountains meant that they had to drive away the local monsters themselves, and in between the times when the merchant caravan arrived, they had to carry their own goods to other settlements to sell them, and to purchase their daily necessities. Surely, they could kick about an ogre or two.

  “We could, with a lot of damages.”

  “Hm?”

  Yes, they were dwarves: strong, healthy, able to forge skilled goods and make their living in the direst of environments, a proud race.

  With their pride on the line, they had set out to quash the monsters that had settled in near their precious mines. The village poured their all into the battle, putting their faith in a collection of brave, skilled volunteers—of which they lost six, while many more were injured. They had failed their mission, and at great cost to themselves. Alas, it was unlikely that there would be any skilled healing mages in a village populated by dwarves, who lacked an aptitude for magic. Even piling on all of the healing herbs in the village was only enough to dull their pain, not cure the fighters.

  With so much of the village’s battle strength lost, they could no longer afford to break up the capable fighters into two groups: one to defend the village, and the other to protect the mines. Left with no option but to sneak into the mines with just a few miners and a few guards so that the monsters would not catch wind of them, the acquisition of new iron ore had sharply decreased. Furthermore, there were many craftsmen, smiths and apprentices alike, who were injured badly enough that they were in no shape to do their work. Losing even two skilled smiths from a single shop was enough to grind production to a halt.